


A Light in the Darkness

by eveshka



Series: The Dawn King Cycle [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: Prompto Argentum wanted to die.Noctis was gone, vanished into the Crystal.Ignis had withdrawn into himself and become a shadow of a man.Gladio just flat-out hated him.And Ardyn? Ardyn hadn’t died.---Originally slated to be in the print edition of the Dawn King Cycle, but I ran into a few issues.So without further ado, what became of our youngest member of the party between Gralea and Malmalam.-----=====-----





	1. Chapter 1

Prompto Argentum wanted to die.

 

Noctis was gone, vanished into the Crystal.

Ignis had withdrawn into himself and become a shadow of a man.

Gladio just flat-out hated him.

And Ardyn? Ardyn hadn’t died.

 

Everything that Aranea had said to him after they’d finally defeated Verstael Besithia had become so much snow in Prompto’s head. White noise filled his brain like cotton and the only time he found silence was when he was finally on the boat and had climbed up into a dark area that was marked ‘personnel only’ under what had to be the scariest set of metal stairs he’d ever seen. The darkness suited his mood and after a few hours, he had to admit the half-rusted staircase was a pretty good representation of how he felt: scarred and scuffed, beaten and worn.

He hid there for as long as he could, coming out only when he heard Ignis’ voice calling for him nearby. Prompto moved closer to Ignis, deliberately making noise until the taller man turned and offered him a small packet of food. Prompto took it with quiet thanks, waited until Ignis had moved on in search of Gladio, and then handed the rations to a little girl. It wasn’t hard to offer a smile when he told her to keep it safe for later.

When he retreated back to his dark corner, he could hear Ardyn’s taunts about MTs and their needs. It echoed in his mind like static and he walked mindlessly on, allowing instinct and reflex to drive his actions, balling up under that rusty staircase again and staying there until the boat docked in Cape Caem.

When Gladio called for him, Prompto didn’t answer.

 

The path to the house at Caem was well lit and the house itself was warm and welcoming to the weary refugees from Altissia. Prompto didn’t want warm and welcoming. He didn’t want to stop moving, because that would mean he’d think. And after what Ardyn had done to him, after losing Noctis and everyone… thinking was the last thing Prompto wanted to do.

So he kept walking. Down past the house, ignoring the gruff voice that called his name in anger and the soft query that followed. He ignored the footsteps behind him, and just kept walking until he got to the truck full of people at the parking area.

They were going to Hammerhead, and leaving immediately. Well, that suited Prompto just fine. He jumped into the back as the truck started off, and ignored the voices behind him.

 

The trip to Hammerhead was a blur of talking and fighting and it was a mess because Prompto wasn’t good at up close fighting but he ran out of bullets early on. He did what he could. It wasn’t much.

A woman in the truck gave him a dagger, and then along the way to Hammerhead, he found another. They didn’t match, but he didn’t care. The longer one went in his right hand and the shorter in his left. The pointed end headed for the enemy. He took down a few smaller daemons, but mostly just added to what would probably be his new scar collection.

When he arrived in Hammerhead, he was bruised and bleeding on top of what Ardyn had done to him. Cindy had taken one look at him and then sent him to shower and clean up. When he returned, she fed him, or tried to. He hadn’t really eaten anything substantial since… did food from machines in Gralea that responded to his barcode count as substantial? Because if not, he hadn’t had anything of that qualifier since before things went to hell in Altissia.

For two weeks, Cindy fed Prompto a soft slurry of overboiled Leiden potatoes and bone broth. It was too thick to be soup, but not quite thick enough to be reminiscent of Ignis’ mashed potatoes. To be bluntly honest, Prompto didn’t care what it was. It was fuel for the machine, and that’s all he was. A blond fighting machine that had been destined to be a soulless monster.

He’d turned into a fighting machine, that was true. But Prompto struggled with the soulless monster thought. It kept his stomach uneasy and his mind churning. Or was it the other way around? He couldn’t tell anymore.

 

The morning after Prompto managed to keep a boiled chickatrice breast down, Cindy handed him a set of keys. The motorcycle wasn’t new, but it worked, and it would get him to Ravatogh where Cor was. Because if Prompto was going to learn how to fight with daggers, he wanted to learn from the best fighter he knew.

He hugged Cindy hard, ignored how she pressed her face into his hair, kissed her on the temple, and jumped on the motorcycle with promises to be in Ravatogh before it got too dark.

As if he knew that without Noctis, the sun would ever rise again.

 

By the end of what pathetically passed as a day, Prompto was standing at the diner, trying not to remember the madcap chaos of retrieving the giant egg and the even more impossible bird thing that had filled the area and died even larger than it had lived while working up the courage to go inside and face Cor. The world was too damn full of memories and every memory stung like a thousand tiny paper cuts.

Prompto closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened his eyes, pushed open the door of the diner and made his way inside, quietly looking around. It hadn’t changed much, though he could tell this was Cor’s base of operations. Potions and consumables were stacked up behind the counter, ready for distributing to anyone who might need one. Prompto probably could have used one, but he decided to leave them for someone more injured than he was, and settled down on in a booth to wait. Eventually, everything from Altissia to Caem and Hammerhead caught up with him and he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompto awoke to the smell of coffee so strong it burned his nose. It didn’t hurt that the mug was a scant inch away from his face, steaming hot and waiting for him. He picked up his head, looked at the coffee in bewilderment for a moment, and then looked up across the table to see Cor sitting there with his own coffee in his hands.

Suddenly thinking that precisely none of this was a _good_ idea, Prompto grabbed his mug, burned his hand when the liquid sloshed, and tried not to flinch. Then without thinking, he took a mouthful of coffee, burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and swallowed, gasping at the sensation. As he regained his breath, he sort of hoped Titan would crack the floor under him so he could just fall into the darkness and be done with it.

Cor ignored Prompto’s antics and simply took a drink from his mug, set it down and cast a glance outside. “You left your gear out front so I brought it into the back. Interesting daggers you’re carrying. What happened to your firearms?”

Prompto stared at the murky brown drink and tried to will himself not so red and prayed that he hadn’t done permanent damage to his tongue. “Can't access the Armiger and I ran out of ammo on the way out of Caem while heading for Hammerhead. Resupplied when I got there, but figured I’d keep the blades and get you to train me in them properly.” He sipped a careful mouthful of the brew, trying to stall the inevitable questions that Cor undoubtedly now had.

It didn't work. He hadn’t expected it to.

“And what happened to you?”

 

The weary blond leaned back in the booth and fixed his gaze somewhere close to the ceiling.

“After Altissia, I fell off the train in Eusciello, and ended up making my way to a Magitek laboratory. While I was there, I killed Verstael Besithia, blew up the lab with the help of Aranea, and _almost_ made it to Zegnautus Keep on my own before getting kidnapped by _Chancellor_ Ardyn Izunia.”

There was a sound from the man across the table, but Prompto shook his head. “I don't want to talk about what happened then, except that it _sucked_ , and Noct and the guys came and rescued me. Then, everything went to hell _again_ , and Noct vanished and the rest of us had to fight our way out of Gralea.”

Cor just looked at Prompto, who shrugged and kept talking. If he was talking, no-one was asking questions. “Somewhere in all that, my access to the Armiger got cut off. Probably by Ardyn, who by the way, newsflash: he can’t die. So I have one set of pistols, all the ammunition I can physically carry, and a mismatched pair of daggers that I can only use because Ignis made me learn rudimentary bladework. Iggy’s blind and can’t teach me anymore, Gladio’s an ass, and Ardyn’s still out there… so here I am.”

 

Silence settled about the two men, and just as Prompto was about to ask where everyone else was, Cor spoke. “All right, stand up.”

Prompto was halfway on his feet before he realized he didn’t know what Cor wanted. “Uh… okay?” He stood up next to the table, and watched Cor shift to his feet and approach him.

A potion was grabbed out of Cor’s Armiger and crushed against Prompto’s chest, then Cor stepped back and looked him over carefully as the minor injuries healed, including (thankfully) his burned tongue. “You’re malnourished, exhausted, and you’ve lost some muscle. That’s easy enough to work with.” Another potion was crushed, this time at his back, and Prompto waited while Cor walked around him. “I can feed you, get you ammunition, and train you in short blade work, but there’s one thing I can’t fix.”

Prompto frowned slightly, trying to figure out what Cor was talking about before the other man reached out and tapped Prompto on the forehead. “You’ve never thought much of yourself before, and I’m willing to make the guess that you’re having a tougher time working through everything. I can’t fix that. But I can listen if you need to talk.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Prompto tried not to let it color his voice, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk. Instead, he looked around the diner and waved a hand at the emptiness around them. “So where is everyone? You’re not here alone, right?”

“Preparations here weren’t quite finished. The rest of the Hunters will be here in a few hours and we’ll work out living arrangements once they’re here. EXENERIS is trying to get power out here soon, but until then we have generators and we’ll set up shifts.” Cor turned and picked up his coffee, waving at the booth with his free hand.

Prompto needed no further suggestions, and sat back down with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while. Learn what I can. Help out where I can. I’m not useless.”

“Never said you were.”

“Gladio did.”

“Gladiolus Amicitia… is Clarus’ son. Generally good-looking but guaranteed to make an ass of himself within the first thirty seconds of any situation.”

Prompto had never been so glad he didn’t like coffee before in his life because he’d have had a mouthful of coffee when Cor said that. As it was, he made a little choking sound and looked at the stoic man sitting across from him in disbelief. The worst part of it was, Prompto couldn't argue it.

“Sorry. Can we talk about something else please?”

“Like I said, kid. I can’t fix it, but I’m willing to listen when you’re ready to talk. Now let’s start that training. Tell me what you know about how to hold those daggers.”

Prompto outlined what Ignis had managed to drill into his head. Cor sighed and shook his head and went to retrieve the daggers. Then there wasn’t much time for thinking, let alone talking.


	3. Chapter 3

Two hours later, Prompto was regretting everything from escaping Gralea to thinking Cor the Immortal would be anything but the hardest damn teacher he’d ever had. Gladio had been a softie compared to the routine that Cor had just put him through.

His morning exercise, he’d been instructed, was as follows: A fifteen minute run followed by fifty pushups, fifty chin-ups, fifty sit-ups and seventy-five star jumps. And none of it at anything less than a frenetic pace. Granted, he got to rest between each activity, but by the end of the first set of pushups, Prompto was ready to roll onto his back and accept defeat.

Cor grabbed him by the arm, hauled him to his feet and walked him to the makeshift chin bar he’d hung over the kitchen doorway. “Fifty chin-ups. Get going.”

Prompto, groaning, got going.

 

A little over a year later, Prompto could do twice that in his sleep every morning without Cor to prompt him. He still couldn’t hold his own with his mismatched daggers when sparring hard with Cor, but it took longer for the Immortal to put him on his ass now. Trial and error had worked out the best way for Prompto to hold his daggers (reversed in the left hand and upright in the right,) and against the average creepy crawly, Prompto managed well enough.

It was the yojimbo that Prompto had the hardest time with because the creature’s blades were so damn long. Dagger fighting required Prompto to get up close and personal, something he simply wasn’t comfortable with in the slightest. Cor had tried to explain it as a sort of dance, but Prompto had firmly stated that he wasn’t all that much of a dancer. In the end, they'd agreed that Prompto would use his firearms for things he couldn’t get close to, and the daggers for everything else.

Cor had left him in charge of Ravatogh while he scouted around to follow up on some rumors, and Prompto continued his exercises, coordinated hunts, and compiled data to send back to Meldacio where a surviving member of the Kingsglaive was supposedly making some sort of reference database for the Hunters to be able to use.

But the thing of it was, Meldacio kept asking Prompto to rally to them, and Ravatogh was getting harder and harder to keep secure. With Pitoss behind them and the crater beside… all sorts of nasties were popping up on a semi-regular basis. Keeping the population of ugly was getting to be a round the clock job, and Prompto stopped thinking about his own training with Cor and more about the group as a whole. When he looked at the ragged men and women at his side, he just couldn’t make them stay.  He put the facility on lockdown, ordered the inhabitants to rest, and radioed Cor to find out where he was so he could talk to the Marshal face to face.

 

He met up with Cor at Malmalam, looking across the field to see Gladio, and fixing the man with a dark look before nodding once. He didn’t have the time to bother with Gladio’s presence, so he focused on giving Cor a quick update. Meldacio wanted to pull out of Ravatogh and bring all hunters up towards Lestallum.  Prompto was to be assigned to Meldacio itself and work from there to help contain the daemons and monsters threatening the northern route between Lestallum and Hammerhead. Cor could go where he would, for Meldacio knew better than to try to contain the Immortal.

“What are your thoughts, Prompto?” Cor asked, surprising the blond.

“If it was just me? I’d stay. But it’s not, and it’s bad enough out here that we can’t afford to take stupid risks and put everyone in the group in jeopardy. With Pitoss and the crater, that group is just so much fodder. You and me? We could probably hold it, but that’s all we could do. We'd spend all our waking hours defending a derelict outpost, and we’re not enough of a serious defense if Pitoss busts open.”

Cor nodded to him, and Prompto almost thought the Marshal looked pleased for a moment, but it must have been a trick of the failing light because when the older man spoke, he wasn’t happy. “I agree. Don’t like it, but you’re right. Best to pull back and regroup. We can send teams out from time to time to keep the place running, but you're right. It’s not safe for proper habitation. Pull out and get to HQ and radio me when you’re safe.”

 

Decision made, and with Cor’s approval, Prompto turned to return to Ravatogh to start making the arrangements. He wanted to be back at the outpost before the ‘day’ was out and make ready for an early light departure. He collected his motorcycle, kicked the engine over and took off, not once looking back. He couldn’t afford to look back anymore.

 

Once back in Ravatogh, Prompto gave everyone the word to pack in for Meldacio. The more adventurous members of the ragtag group grumbled, wanting to stay, but Prompto wouldn't be swayed. He stood his ground, argued them down and agreed that it was losing ground, but lost ground could be recovered later. Lost lives couldn't.

After that observation, even the overeager hunters were subdued, and Prompto radioed Meldacio, arranging early morning transport for them. Then he gathered his meager belongings and sorted them quickly. What couldn’t fit into his backpack or the small saddlebags was scrutinized. Without access to the Armiger, space was a consideration, and he had a few things he simply didn’t want to leave behind. The daggers could go in a makeshift sling across his back, though it would be hell if he had to stop for a battle.

With a sigh, he scrounged up another rucksack, shoved everything he possibly could into it, and when it didn’t zip fully, he opened it back up, carefully laid the daggers in, and then zipped it as best he could. At least this way, he could get to them if he needed.

He looked at the fading light, sighed, and decided he’d packed as best he could. He’d call it a night, get up and help the others head out, then get on the road himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Prompto had enough time to go through his entire morning workout and make everyone some of the hideous coffee Cor had gotten him addicted to before the transport rolled in. Everyone was given an extra bag of food, even if they were loaded to the teeth. Prompto knew that food was going to go scarce, and the perishables were only going to go to waste.

He almost missed his salad days, but Prompto knew that his morning workout burned more calories now than he had in a full day back before the world went to hell. He didn’t even add in his evening workout, or anything he’d do during the day. He needed the calories, and suspected that he already wasn’t eating enough as it was.

Prompto bundled up some food for himself, locked the place down as best he could, and then grabbed his bags and loaded up. A hand caught one of the bags, and he looked up in surprise to see Galentius, one of the Glaive come down from Lestallum, smiling at him as he offered him leg holsters that had been modified to take his daggers as well as his pistols.

“Put your gear in the truck. We’re going to Meldacio, so you can ride light. When we got here, one of the Hunters said you had blades and pistols, so we rigged this up for you real fast. It’s not pretty, but this will let you keep your blades in case we need to fight. We’re all with you, Argentum.” He took the bag then and swung it over his shoulder as he walked back to the truck, leaving Prompto to gather the rest of his things and scurry after him.

Once his gear was safely stowed in the truck, he set his daggers in their new places, marveled at how fast the Glaive had modified the gear, added his pistols, and hopped on the bike. With the modifications to add his daggers, the holsters felt a little awkward, but he’d get used to it. He gave the driver a nod, fired up the bike, and pulled out after the truck. It was a long way to Meldacio, but he wasn’t alone.

 

What Prompto hadn’t considered in accepting the assist from the truck was that it more than doubled his travel time. What should have taken him not quite two hours (because let’s face it, Prompto rode a little too fast and a little too hard) took almost five. On the up side, when they stopped to fight for the road, it wasn’t long before they were done and back on the road again.

They moved on and the bonds formed by those who survived reminded Prompto of his days with the guys, and he was pleased but saddened. Without the others, he was on his own… but right now, without access to the armiger, he was useless in a fight at their sides. Noct and the others relied on him being a distance fighter with a wide range of weapons, though he’d occasionally get to mix it up with them.

 

Now, months later? Suffice it to say that Prompto was getting better at being up close and personal with the uglies. It didn’t mean he was any less panic-stricken after the fact with adrenaline for blood and his heart somewhere around his teeth. And it certainly didn’t mean that sleep came any sooner because he was exhausted. No, it meant that Prompto lay there in the dark, his heart pounding and his skin crawling for hours, trapped in his own head until the external darkness had seeped into his bones and carried him down into sleep.

Too many nights Prompto didn’t sleep, instead burning off the excess energy with the routine and hard work of exercise. He’d started running again, too, plotting out the longest and safest course where-ever he was and then running it until his lungs burned and his feet pounded. It left him somewhat exhilarated, though, so he just kept going.

When he got CXIV tattooed on his wrist in Lestallum, that left him exhilarated too.

 

Over the months, he’d been in sporadic contact with Ignis, and that was good, because Ignis hadn’t deserved what had happened to him in Altissia or Gralea after Noctis had vanished. (Prompto couldn’t say what had happened to Ignis between those moments. He hadn’t been there.) And truth to tell, Prompto worried quite a bit about the man. Without Noctis, and without his sight, Prompto worried that Ignis was very much a lost man in a very dark world. But when they spoke, the advisor sounded clear and focused, so Prompto didn’t drop everything to go find his friend and upend the other man’s world. He had to find his own path in the dark, just like Ignis.

And then, there he was in Hammerhead, getting ready to make a run to Galdin Quay to rescue survivors and retreat from the shoreline. Gladio was there with a truck that looked like it had been driven off a few cliffs, rolled over and landed on its tires just to do it all again. Prompto wondered if Gladio used it to kill larger things quickly. He decided not to ask when Gladio ducked his head up under the hood.

He kept walking and talking to his contact from HQ, trying to ignore the pain in his chest and the echoing in his head.


	5. Chapter 5

Things rarely ever work out the way you wanted them to, and Prompto was heading into the shop and just so happened to be looking towards Gladio when the bigger man lifted his head. Naturally, their eyes met, but before Prompto could look away, Gladio nodded at him and turned to go into the shop.

It took Prompto aback somewhat, but he sucked in his feelings and followed the larger man into the shop. “Ignis wants you to buy a radio. Or at the very least, go to Lestallum and prove to him you’re still alive.”

“How is he? He keeping well?” Prompto didn’t look at Gladio when he spoke. The disgust would have been too evident that the Shield didn’t know how _Ignis_ of all people was. They were supposed to have been tight.

“Well enough, from what I hear. He’s been training. Said he wants to be ready for Noct’s return.” Prompto kept his voice even as he pushed past Gladio and put a few things on the counter, quickly tallying up his costs before adding another few bandages. “Cor’s training him. He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, guess so. I’ll see about a radio in time. Don’t have much need of one right now.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll tell him I saw you,” Prompto said to Gladio before he looked at the kid behind the counter and pointed to a red bag. “One of those too please.” Prompto still had some potions in the bags of his bike, but if he held those for when he really needed them, he’d get by longer. It was getting harder to guarantee a supply of potions on the road.

Besides, girls liked scars, right? It seemed to have worked for Gladio… Prompto dragged his thoughts away from memories of the Assassin Festival and turned to leave the shop after paying.

 

He waked over to the garage, gave Cindy a faint smile and a nod. “Go ahead. I’ll cover whatever it costs.”

Blonde curls bounced and green eyes twinkled at him. “It’s already done and don’t ya say a thing about cost. You boys may not be good with each other, but you’re still my boys and I do what I can for all of ya.”

Prompto’s smile broke a little. “Cindy…”

She punched him in the shoulder, then hugged him fiercely, her arms around his chest. “Shut it, Sunshine. Someone's got to take care of ya.” She pushed him away almost as fiercely as she’d hugged him, then winked. “Now you get yourself prepped for Galdin. There’s extra ammo on the bench back there, so make sure you’ve got room for it. Anything you don’t wanna take with ya, can stay here until ya get back.”

He knew she was worried; her accent faded in and out. Whatever she’d heard from Galdin had upset her and she was trying to do what she could. “Okay, Cindy, okay. I’ll go get my stuff packed up.”

 

When Prompto got to Galdin Quay, it was obvious that things had gone straight to hell and then kept digging. A mass of flan wobbled near the boardwalk to the restaurant, and some reapertails milled around a dark shape towards the center of the parking area. Off past that, Prompto could see a figure out by the fishing shack frantically swatting at another flan with a… what _was_ that? A _suitcase_?

He parked the bike, leapt off, and forgot everything when his eyes focused on the black-clad figure on the ground. Prompto sprinted, faster than he'd ever run before, Gladio's name on his breath. The orange pinion was discarded beside an undamaged potion on the ground, and years of practice had him crushing pinion then potion against the other man's side in quick succession.

He was rewarded by a low rumbling groan, and grabbed Gladio by the arm, tugging him up with adrenaline infused strength. “On your feet, Gladiolus, it’s going to take all of us to get these things beaten back.”

“Right,” Gladio replied as he regained his feet. “Thanks.” The man's favored sword appeared from the Armiger, and Prompto gritted his teeth, drew his blades and darted into the battle.

Prompto fought as if each daemon he brought down would be the one to bring back the light. He danced with the daemons, teeth bared and eyes glittering with an almost feral rage. Dart in, dance out, blades making mince of the enemy. If this was what Ignis felt like in battle, it was _glorious_.

He looked up, seeing a reapertail ready to strike Gladio, and didn't stop to think. He tossed the blade in his right hand high into the air, pulled his pistol, took three shots, holstered the pistol and reached out to catch the blade by the hilt. He hadn't blinked. He'd just tapped into something and done it.

Prompto shoved the dagger back where it belonged and ignored the look of surprise on the larger man’s face as he pushed past him to make his way down towards the fishing shack, where to his surprise, the flan was sizzling away, mostly dead. He sheathed his blades and looked at the figure, realizing with shock who it was. “Coctura??”

She shrugged, but her smile seemed more than a little frantic and somewhat predatory at the same time. “Flan’s a flan, right? Flambé.” She collected her suitcase and looked at Prompto. “Let’s get out of here before I run out of fuel, huh?” She shook a small gun-like gadget in her hand at him and he realized it was a cooking torch.

Ignis would be so damn horrified. And proud. But mostly horrified.

Prompto just shook his head and collected her suitcase, then guided Coctura to the truck where she climbed in and settled beside a distractedly distraught Dino, took her suitcase, and huddled against the reporter as the truck lumbered away into the darkness towards the lights of Hammerhead and relative saftey.


	6. Chapter 6

They hadn’t saved enough people from Galdin Quay. Prompto had counted fourteen in the back of the truck as it rolled out, and then busied himself searching every nook and cranny of the resort in desperate search for someone else, anyone else. He wouldn’t deny it hurt when he had to leave with the last batch of hunters and he hadn’t found another living soul. He just put that pain on his barcode where he put all the rest of it, and headed back to Hammerhead.

 

Once back, Prompto stashed his motorcycle in its usual spot, and wandered into the diner to see if he could help with wrangling refugees. Coctura, immediately in her element, had partnered up with Takka and they were busy working on a meal for everyone including those not staying, so Prompto turned and headed back outside, spotting Gladio across the way.

His feet carried him though his heart didn’t want to interact with the man. Still, he didn’t hate Gladio. He just hated what Gladio thought of him. “Takka’s got food on if you want some. Said he can make you a go bag if you’re still going down to Caem.”

“I’m good. Got my own supplies when I need them, and it still takes me a while to get hungry after a Phoenix down. Thanks for that, by the way. Got in over my head.”

“All right,” Prompto replied, not really sure how to answer the words of thanks. It was easier to just let it go.

He turned to go back towards the diner and pass on the word that Gladio wouldn’t be eating, when the man’s voice came from behind him, a rumble of something almost familiar in the man’s voice. “Hey Prompto, you look good. The tattoo suits you.”

Prompto’s feet kept moving. “Thanks.”

 

The tattoo meant more to him than Gladio could ever have imagined. On the outside of his right wrist, Prompto had his barcode, and it was his past. It was the beginning of his story. The inside of his left wrist bore his other tattoo… CXIV. That was his future. Everything he did, it was for that better world that he and Noctis had talked about in that bunker in Gralea. He’d do whatever it took.

He’d _kill_ for that better world.

 

Back inside the diner, Prompto took a bowl of stew, settled down on a stool and ate quietly. He watched everyone in the diner, his blue eyes constantly on alert for anything that might be a sign of Starscourge in the refugees. He saw no veining, no shadowy dark patches of skin. No unusually aggressive or exceptionally possessive behaviors. All he saw was a group of very tired people very grateful to just be alive.

“You can ease up every once in a while, Sunshine. We got enough folks in here that if there’s a problem, it’ll get taken care of,” Cindy said as she hopped up on the counter next to Prompto’s bowl. The counter was almost shoulder height, but she bounced up there as if she’d done it all her life. For all Prompto knew, she had. She reached out and tousled his hair, smiling at him all the while. “Take the weight of the world off for a bit and get some rest. I know you haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Can’t sleep. The naga will get me.”

“Sugar, you don’t sleep and ya’ll do somethin’ stupid out there in the field.” She gripped the edge of the counter on each side of her knees and leaned over towards Prompto. “And if you do somethin’ stupid… I’ll hafta use a phoenix down so I can yell at ya. It’s easier to avoid all that, don’tcha think?”

He managed to scrounge up a smile from somewhere and let it creep across his face. “Yeah, I think.” Prompto knew that Cindy would gently badger him until he caved and gave in; it was a game they’d started playing when he’d first shown up alone in Hammerhead. He’d cried, she’d hugged, and they’d both agreed to prop each other up as needed.

Right now, he needed all the propping up he could get. “Fourteen people, Cindy. Out of all those people down in Galdin… we only saved fourteen.”

“Fifteen. I heard what you did when you got there, and that’s a good job you did, too. I know it wasn’t easy.”

Gladio. He’d been the first person Prompto had rescued. His shoulders dropped and he pushed the stew at Cindy, who picked up his spoon and started eating without missing a beat. “I don’t hate the big guy, Cindy. I just… I don’t want to be treated like that. I’m not an emotionless robot thing. I’m me. Prompto. A big messy blond ball of anxiety and random panic.” _Ifrit’s balls, I really am a chocobo._

“And we love you for it,” Cindy replied, putting the spoon back in the bowl and distracting him from his thoughts. “But you’ve got to lighten up on yourself, too. You say you don’t hate Gladio, but I think you might hate _you_.”

Prompto looked up at Cindy, jolted as if she’d thrown a lightning spell at him. “Sometimes you scare me. A lot.”

She smiled and hopped down off of the countertop. “Good. Now I’mma scare you to bed here in a minute. And don’t think I’ll be leavin’ you alone, either. You’ll sleep if it means I keep ya in the bed myself.”

Not too long ago, Prompto’s heart would have soared to hear those words. Now? They made his nose tingle and dampness threaten his eyes even though he didn’t cry as much as he had before. She’d rocked him to sleep more nights than he cared to count, and when she did, the nightmares stayed away. “Yeah, okay. I hear you.”

 

And later, when she sat next to him on his bunk and toyed her fingers through his hair, he fell asleep almost at once and dreamed of a world brightly lit and laughter filling the air.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, or what passed to Prompto as morning, he was on his motorcycle and speeding up along the road to Meldacio. Given that he’d been around Leide on his own and had recent knowledge of various locations, HQ had called him back to speak with the Glaive who was compiling information to make some sort of codex for hunters to use as a reference. Prompto hadn’t been sure he was the right guy, but he’d meet the Glaive and see.

He hit his horn in the proper rhythm, and pulled up through the gate before it was fully open, then cut the engine, coasting off to a stop by the old caravan and waved off the concern on the guard’s face. He didn’t ride with a helmet, for a multitude of reasons. First, if he ended up in a battle, the helmet would restrict his view. Second, if he fell off? He didn’t quite have a death wish, but who was he to argue with fate? Oh, who was he kidding? Prompto argued with and tempted fate on a semi-regular basis. It was kind of his thing.

 

Prompto waved at Biggs and Wedge, then walked around to the other side of the shop’s porch where a dark skinned man with hair braided tightly against his scalp sat busily organizing paperwork. Prompto waited to be noticed, and then, finally cleared his throat. “Uh… Prompto Argentum? Present as requested?”

  
“Argentum… Argentum… Arget-ah, yes. Crownsguard, gunner. You were in Galdin, give me a quick update if you would? Survivors? Casualties? What sort of daemons did you encounter?” The man’s voice was melodic, his accent unlike anything Prompto had heard before. His speech patterns were quick though, reminiscent of Ignis.

  
“Uh… came up on a reapertail hive on arrival, but those died as easily as normal.” Prompto paused, thought about it, and then let his memory replay. “Fourteen survivors out of a few hundred people. Nothing unusual as far as the daemons go, though the flan did seem a little harder to kill. Fire still works well against those, by the way. All told I’d say we saved about five percent of the population, which is pretty abysmal if you ask me.”

  
The man leaned back in his chair and lifted a warm brown gaze to look to Prompto. “Five percent is better than none, young man. Without your assistance, more lives would have been lost, and that would have been abysmal. Thank you for your efforts on behalf of the people of Lucis. We owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

  
Prompto could feel his cheeks burning and he looked away from the friendly gaze. “Yeah… I’m just a Crownsguard without a Crown to guard, so I help the people instead. And speaking of that, am I needed anywhere in particular? I was told to come report in to you, but if you don’t need me for anything else…”

  
“If you want to go back out, I certainly won’t stop you. Go check in over there and ask where you might be needed most.” The man pointed over to the table set up under a green military canopy. “Tell them Stasios Teleon sent you.”

  
“Okay, thanks. Uh… what are you doing, anyway?” Prompto had heard this man was building a database, but he wanted to hear it directly from the man himself.

“I am attempting to make a comprehensive compendium of the daemons and hoping to make some sort of logic to their behaviors once the data is compiled,” Stasios replied, waving at the paperwork. “It’s tedious, but I do it in the hopes that it will help hunters and other Glaive.”

“Dude. You should hook up with Ignis Scientia… he’s a walking monster and daemon codex. He can tell you all about weaknesses and kill points. He’s in Lestallum. But don’t tell him I told you; he’s kind of picky about who knows what he can do. Just… start talking to him. You’ll figure it out.”

“Perhaps I shall. Thank you, Crownsguard Argentum.”

“Name’s Prompto. Use it or lose it.” He almost gave the Glaive fingerguns, but thought the better of it, then turned and headed towards the green canopy and the woman sitting underneath its shelter.

 

Hours later, Prompto was parked on the railing of the shop, bored. They didn’t have any assignments for him, so he'd chatted with Stasios about other things he’d learned while fighting as he cleaned his pistols, then he’d gone in the shop and secured new ammunition. After that, he’d come back out and cleaned his daggers while talking with Stasios some more, then repacked his gear.

Stasios invited Prompto to sit with him at lunch, so they ate together before Prompto gathered up some more supplies and tucked ration bars in damn near every hiding space he could think of, then found a few more places to hide some.

After that, Stasios was called away, and Prompto drifted around Meldacio for a few hours before he grew bored and wanted to be back in the thick of things so he didn’t have to think. He drifted around Meldacio for another two hours, and then made his decision. He was going back to Hammerhead if it killed him.

 

Prompto wasn’t sure if he’d been intimidating, or if they’d just decided to humor him, but either way he was back on the road to Hammerhead within the hour. Of course, Cindy was going to kick his ass for making the round-trip run without sleeping in between, but he’d deal with that. She didn’t kick half as hard as Cor did, anyway.

His motorcycle made a distressing sound when Hammerhead came into sight, and Prompto tried not to have a panic attack. He tucked in on the bike and pushed it to what even he thought was an unsafe speed. If the motor cut out, at least he’d be able to coast a little longer if he was going faster, right?

Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to find out. The engine sputtered as he approached the gate, and he walked the motorcycle in to Hammerhead, smiling guiltily at Cindy as he did so. Busted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Prompto'sfault


	8. Chapter 8

Cindy didn't hit Prompto as much as swat him repeatedly with her hat. This set him off in gales of laughter as she chased him around the motorcycle, giving him hell for overheating the engine and risking his ‘damn fool life’ to get back to Hammerhead. She was Cid’s granddaughter, no two ways about it.

After he'd taken his swats and eaten, a team of hunters asked Prompto if he'd be willing to go scout Insomnia with them, and see if there was anything worth trying to steal back to Hammerhead. Against Cindy's better judgement, Prompto said yes and rolled out with them in the back of a decrepit pickup truck with wood panel siding and patchy rusted paint.

 

Which was how he found himself several hours later, a little over half a mile inside the broken walls of the city, separated from the others and wondering how he was going to get back. Cindy was going to kill him, use a Phoenix Down on him, and kill him again. Or worse. She'd tell Ignis and Cor. He was _so_ dead.

Prompto ducked around a corner and looked down the road in the hopes of recognizing where he was. With the rubble and debris, it was hard to figure out what was road and what was just broken building. Still lost, he moved around the large stonework facade that was in the middle of the road, and moved towards what looked to be a parking lot with flickering lights. At least if the lights were still working, he could take up refuge there and figure out what to do next.

It turned out to be one of Prompto’s best decisions ever, as it was the parking lot to a motor vehicle sales shop, and inside the building amidst broken glass and ruined papers rested a motorcycle that needed a new owner. Lucky for it, Prompto needed a new motorcycle. It was a match made in… the ruins of a city that Prompto had loved.

He made his way into the building and looked at the motorcycle. Of course it wouldn’t have the keys in the ignition, so where would the keys be kept? He tried to find the keys near the machine, failed, and then turned to start poking around in anything that might have held a key. Including that big grey box on the wall. You know, the one marked KEYS in big black letters that was hanging half open. Yeah, that one. He grabbed every key that looked like it might have been right and moved back over to the motorcycle.

 

Ten minutes later and a bunch of keys cast to the floor, Prompto had the motorcycle keys in one hand and was walking the bike carefully around the broken glass towards the back of the building. They had gasoline pumps for the things they sold, right? Right, because that was a gas pump right there.

He found the power switch and threw the switch, grateful when the pump motor started, filled the tank, shut the pump off again and started up the motorcycle. The engine was amazingly loud in the silent city, and he killed it immediately, hiding out and waiting to see if the noise would attract any daemons or scavengers.

He tucked himself up into a windowless office inside the building, and closed the door as he prayed to whichever of the Six might be listening that the noises went unnoticed. An hour later, Prompto crept out of the back office, collected the motorcycle and began walking with it in the direction that he hoped was back towards the way he’d come, making a solemn mental vow to return to the shop when Insomnia was rebuilt so he could pay for the motorbike.

 

Prompto’s phone didn’t have signal, but it still kept time, and he had been wandering for two hours, now pretty sure he wasn’t going in the proper direction to get out of the city. He’d happened into a shopping area, and on a whim, rested the motorcycle outside and slipped into one of the hardware stores.

It didn’t take much time to find what he was looking for: a bag, some basic vehicle maintenance tools, a compass, and some black gloves. He topped that off with some of the impulse items by the registers: a couple of flashlights and several packs of batteries, some chocolate bars that looked reasonably safe, and every single packet of beef jerky. When he noticed the peanuts, he actually went back for a second bag to carry them, and then made sure he bagged every last peanut he could find in the place.

The fizzy drinks all looked the worse for wear, but he grabbed several bottles of water, shoved them in the bag with the peanuts and jerky, then slung both bags onto his shoulders, and went back out to the motorcycle, fully loaded and in a much better frame of mind for survival.

Prompto fished the compass and the gloves out of the first bag, and then tried to remember what they had said about the layout of the city in school. Failing, he ducked into another shop marked “Sundries” and secured a map. He walked along the road beside the motorcycle until he came to a large intersection, noted the street names from the sideways hanging signs, and opened up the map.

It took him five minutes to find himself, plot a path out, and fold up the map. He knew where he was, where he was going, he had food and he had water. Prompto was a man on a mission. He had to get back to Hammerhead before he got too sleepy, and he was starting to feel the pull. He paused, grabbed a bag of peanuts, opened it and popped a few in his mouth. Chewing would help keep him awake, and give him some badly needed calories.

He swallowed, set his sights on the path he needed to take, and quoted a man whose voice he hadn’t heard in entirely too long. “Onward.”


	9. Chapter 9

He had to kick an impressive amount of rubble away from the small gate that led outside Insomnia, given that rubble bigger than he was had fallen into the road and crushed several abandoned vehicles. But once he made a path he could walk the motorcycle through, leaving the city behind was fairly easy.

Prompto wasn’t secure enough with the handling of the motorcycle to pop peanuts while he rode, so he paused every once in a while to get a mouthful of food or water. He made a few stops because once he’d started eating, he’d realized he was a lot hungrier than he realized. He checked his phone for signal, but he was still too far away from the rudimentary system that had been set up, and all he saw was the clock. It was a lot later in the ‘day’ than he thought it was, and he decided to gun it for Hammerhead.

 

By the time Prompto pulled up to the Hammerhead gates, he figured he’d been gone for about 46 hours. He hit the horn in the proper sequence, and the gate cranked open slowly. He slipped through, pulled up beside the truck he’d ridden out in, and killed the motor.

Behind him, a voice began to rant. “Prompto Argentum where the _hell_ have you been? And where’s your radio?”

Cindy was red in the face and her hat was in her hand as she stalked across the concrete and slammed into him, hat first. Except, she wasn’t hitting him. Her face was buried in his shirt and her voice was muffled, but she was still giving him hell. “Good for nothing… go out to Insomnia without your radio… vanished, didn’t come back…”

Prompto brought his arms up and around her, hugging her close, only to be shoved away when she hollered loud enough to make everyone nearby turn and look. “And _then_ you turn back up out of the blue with a new motorcycle after I fixed your old one?”

“Well… I-” Prompto began, but she stuck her finger in his face and he backed up, closing his mouth, blue eyes wide. It was reflex, and he tried to stop moving, but his feet refused to reverse direction. Instead, he leaned forwards slightly towards her.

Cindy wasn’t having it, reaching up with her free hand and pushing forwards until his back was against the truck. “You listen here, Mister ‘I’m a Crownsguard and can take care of myself Argentum’ you pull another stunt like that, and I’m done fixin’ your stuff. _You’ll_ have ta learn it. I got more things ta do than sit around worryin’ about _you_ all day.”

Prompto just smiled, pulled Cindy into a hug, and pressed his lips to her hair. “Yes ma’am. Sorry I worried you; I won’t do it again.”

Cindy harrumphed into his shoulder. “You’d better not. Or I’ll kick your ass from here to the Vesperpool.”

He closed his eyes at her words. “You know, I used to be head over heels for you. Starstruck, madly and totally taken. And that was before I learned who you really are. The guys, they all gave me crap because they thought I just had the hots for you.” Prompto felt Cindy start to pull away, but he held on gently.

“You’re more than that,” he said quietly, “You always were. You were out here in this wild and crazy world, shining like a beautiful beacon of strength. And I wanted to be like that too.”

“Prompto…” Cindy did pull away this time, though not as far as she might have, just enough to look him in the eyes. “Did ya just call me a lighthouse?”

He couldn’t resist. “Well you know, Gladio _did_ say you were built like a brick-” He dissolved into laughter when she hauled off and punched him in the shoulder. It hadn’t hurt, and she was laughing when she did it, so Prompto considered it a win. “So… am I forgiven?”

She shot him a dirty look, and then smiled. “Damn it, Sunshine, I just can’t stay mad at ya.” When she ruffled his hair, he knew he was safe from further ire. “But you’re doin’ the dishes tonight, and don’t you dare try an’ get out of it. Hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Prompto replied dutifully, though he was grinning at her when he did.

She shot him another look and then headed back to the garage, throwing words over her shoulder. “You’re still in the doghouse, but you can park your bike inside if you want. I’ll put the old one back on reserve for someone else.”

Prompto quietly thanked his lucky stars and took the motorcycle along after Cindy, rolling it along to park it in his spot.

 

After dinner, Prompto reported for duty in the kitchen, tolerated some good natured joking about his new nickname, grabbed soap and water, and started in on the dishes. It was hard work, but it at least gave him the thought that he was managing to do something, rather than fighting daemons that never seemed to go away. At least, at the end of his shift, he had a pile of clean dishes to prove something had actually been done.

Takka helped him figure out where everything went, and after almost an hour and a half, they called it an evening and Prompto was turned out on his own once again.

At loose ends, he scouted the perimeter of the habitat and checked the fence for signs of damage. He found a spot that had lifted up from the hardpacked soil, and wired a flag for repair into the chainlink. The next repair sweep would come along shortly and fix it, so he moved on down the fence, marking things as he went so that repairs could be effected. He made a mental note to ask if he could go along with the repair crew, just so he could learn how to do the repairs. It couldn’t hurt to learn new things, right?


	10. Chapter 10

By this point, Prompto had started writing almost daily letters to Ignis, and ‘met’ a Glaive named Licinia through writing. Through letters with her, he discovered that Stasios had sought out Ignis and was the Glaive nursing the man back to health. Prompto kept his satisfaction to _that_ revelation entirely to himself, knowing how dangerous it was to be alone in this world. If that Glaive could become a friend to Ignis, then all the better for them.

Knowing that Ignis was in good hands lessened his worries, and he focused on the tasks he’d taken up around Hammerhead with renewed vigor. He checked the fence every morning (as much as it could be called morning,) made minor repairs and flagged the big things that he couldn’t fix by himself. Then it was on to a few hours of duty in the watchtowers that they’d built, looking out over the dry desert lands around Hammerhead and making sure that things on the prowl stayed well and clear of the fences.

Lunch was usually something on the fly, and then Prompto would head out to run the roads with a group of hunters in search of anything they could hunt for food, and to try to contain the spreading daemon menace.

In the evenings, Prompto practiced his Braille freehanded as he wrote little scraps of things to Ignis just because he could. He’d never be **good** at it, but he knew that it was, at the very least, legible, and above all else, _private_. It certainly wasn’t that Prompto didn’t trust the Glaive that read his letters to Ignis; they were Glaive after all. It was just that certain things didn’t need to be out in the open where anyone could read them.

 

A month or so later he was sitting in the garage, keeping Cindy company and struggling with some braille syntax, when Cindy dropped a book on the desk where he was working. “Here. Almost forgot I had this thing. Talks all about Braille and advanced writin’. Might be helpful.”

“Okay… but why do you have this?” Prompto asked quietly, picking up and turning the coursebook over in his hands, then opening it to a random page and looking at the lessons. “I mean… you can see. And read.”

Cindy shrugged and started cleaning her tools and putting them back in the case. “Someone came through one day and dropped it off. Said I’d be needin’ it for a member of the Crownsguard that survived a disaster in Altissia. Didn’t know what he meant, but I hung on to it. Then word came down from Caem that you boys had come home without the Prince and Ignis had been injured and was blind. So I got the book out.”

Prompto wanted to throw up. “Did he… was he…” He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and tried again. “He had reddish hair and looked like a fashion disaster in a strange coat.” It wasn’t a question this time.

“Ayup. An’ a hat. Didn’t much like the look of ‘im but a girl’l take any news she can get,” She closed the toolkit and put her own hat back on, looking over to Prompto. “By the time I knew Ignis was in Lestallum, I’d managed to get my hands on a few extra teaching tools and sent him some. Last I heard, he was doing good at it.”

“Yeah, Iggy learns new stuff faster than anyone I’ve ever met. Knowing him, he’ll figure out how to see and fight again in no time.” Prompto replied, looking at the book. Ardyn. Ardyn had brought the book to Cindy after they’d been in Altissia, knowing full well that Ignis was blind. Had Ardyn been in Altissia? Had he blinded the Advisor? But why would he help if he had? “Argh… none of this makes sense!” Prompto said, closing the book and looking up at the lights overhead.

“Ya need ta learn it before you can use it, Prompto,” Cindy laughed, misunderstanding his frustration. “So now you’ve got a lesson book, a slate, and a stylus. Ya just haft put your head to use too.”

He sighed, collected the items in question and slid off of the stool. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do, and he needed to keep his mind off of the fact that Ardyn was involved. Because all he wanted to do at the moment was make Ardyn pay.

_I shot him in the head and he put that damned hat back on like nothing had happened, and then I learn he’d done this. What game are you playing, Ardyn? ‘Cause once I figure that out, I’m playing too._

And Prompto always played to win.

 

So Prompto continued to learn Braille and sent letters to Ignis. When Ignis wrote back, it was usually through Licina or Stasios, and after an initial bit of fuss, both Stasios and Licinia were read in and brought up to speed regarding Noctis, Ardyn, the Crystal, and yes, even Prompto. At first, Prompto wasn’t sure what to think about that, but Licinia was ever supportive in her letters, so he decided it wasn’t too terrible a thing, and stopped being so secretive.

 

By the calendar, it was early spring of the fourth year of Noctis’ disappearance when he heard a call on the radio. Ignis Scientia had earned a nickname: The Ghost. And he was hunting again. Prompto had no idea how, but he wasn’t surprised. He just wrote another letter, sent it off to Lestallum, and tucked a little bit of happiness back into his heart.

He heard little from Gladio directly, occasionally picking up the man’s gruff voice on the radio giving reports. He was glad the Shield was still fighting… he just didn’t know what to say to the man, so he didn’t say anything. He just listened, grateful for that much, and let it go.

It was a hard life, but Prompto had found his place and learned how to thrive in it.


	11. Chapter 11

Time passed and Prompto kept moving forwards. He was faster in fights now, capable of taking down a handful of reapertails on his own, and even got in multiple up-close hits on the average yojimbo with his blades. He knew he’d never be as fast or as fancy as Ignis was (the one time he’d tried the infamous dagger kick, Prompto’d had to pull the dagger out of his boot while thanking every Astral that he hadn’t stabbed his own foot,) but he thought that he was reasonably okay with them.

He tested himself making the run to Taelpar. He’d claimed that it was just becausehe’d heard someone had brought it back online and that he was _only_ running down to check out the outpost and to get away for a night. Cindy played along and they both pretended that it wasn’t the end of the fifth August without Noctis. Calendars and clocks were enemies, and this year even moreso.

 

Prompto had never expected to be streaking back to Hammerhead through the night on his motorcycle, fierce and on top of the freaking world. He’d found Noct’s Carbuncle charm, and somehow had regained access to the armiger. His full arsenal was his to command once more and he was a man with a mission and a load of ammunition.

 

Prompto would later never admit to seeking out a Red Giant deliberately, but in the moment? Why the hell not? When it crawled out of its Six-forsaken abyss under the road, Prompto was ready for it. A starshell to the sky, and with a flick of his wrists, he was running headlong at the thing with daggers in his hands.

It fell much faster than he anticipated… or he himself was stronger or faster. Maybe both. The return of his ability to pull weapons from the crystalspace certainly didn’t hurt. What surprised him was that instead of his standard pistols, he’d pulled out a set of perfectly matched daggers that were weighted differently from his mismatched pair, but he’d adapted to them, adjusted his use as if it were nothing worth the thought, and kept on fighting.

It didn’t occur to him until much later that he’d accessed Ignis’ blades. (Several attempts to access the lances the other man had favored proved futile. The armiger only passed him what he could wield, and in the end, Prompto was okay with that.)

 

Back in Hammerhead, he parked his motorcycle where it belonged, and then ran to find Cindy halfway under an old truck that looked like the back end had been rebuilt with wood. He sort of thought he recognized the truck, and then saw through the wooden slats. Furloch Farms. Oh that damn truck.

He laughed, and it felt good to do so. “You know, as many times as we encountered that truck, I kinda thought it would have been done for by now. Voretooth, bugs, spiracorns… that truck has pretty much seen it all.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Prompto.” Cindy replied, her voice filtering up through the engine compartment. “But do me a favor, and hand me that wrench over there.” Her hand waved at him from under the bumper in a grabby motion.

“Uh, yea, okay… um… this thing?” He bent down and handed her something that he thought was a wrench.

She felt around for a moment, then took it, and then slid out from under the truck and looked at Prompto. “Prompto, sugar, that’s a spanner. I need the wrench.”

He frowned. Spanner? Wrench? He picked up the other tool and showed it to her. “Is this a wrench? What’s the difference?”

“Well, just so you know, a spanner can be different sizes, but a wrench can’t. And because the spanner’s bigger, it don’t fit right where I need it to.” She offered him up the spanner and took the wrench from him with a smile. Then she slid back under the truck. “Anyway, you’re back early… something go wrong?”

“No! Something went really great for a change, actually. I’ve got my weapons and kit back.” He didn’t know how else to explain that his link to the Armiger was restored.

“That’s great, Prompto. I know that was a real problem you had, what with ammunition and all. Good for you,” Cindy thumped the tool against the truck and made a pleased sound. “An’ there we go. Good as new. Thanks for your help, made all the difference in the world.”

Prompto rolled his eyes as she reappeared and popped back up to her feet. “Bull. I handed you the wrong tool.”

Cindy grinned at him and patted his cheek with an oily hand. “Sugar, you’re always right to me.”

He couldn’t help it; he turned red and grinned.

 

A few weeks later, he was on his back, sliding through a Red Giant’s widelegged stance when his radio went off. “Argentum, you copy?”

He leapt to his feet, fired off a starshell and followed up with a new weapon he called ‘NiffLove’ and watched the thing deliquesce as he keyed the radio on his shoulder. He truly had enjoyed reverse engineering Niff tech. “Loud and clear, Dave. Whatcha got?”

“Reports of a lone traveler in distress down Malmalam. You up for the run?”

“Ugh, sure. Not my favorite place, but it beats the hell out of Costlemark,” Prompto replied, sending his pistol away and heading back for his motorcycle. “Any idea who I’m rescuing?”

“Good, because I told Meldacio that you were already on the way. So get your ass in gear and move it,” Dave replied, and Prompto could hear the grin in the man’s voice. “No idea, either. Just know its some hunter that wandered in and now needs to be fished out before things get too bad. Good hunting.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know what I find.” Protocol was rarely kept between individuals, though Meldacio frequently raised reminders. He waited, heard nothing further, so kicked off the engine and sped away into the night, headed for Malmalam, and whatever awaited.


End file.
